


i got a feeling this will shake me down

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, meat pies, shopping trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 12:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15437514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: “He’s very touchy,” says Caleb. “Which one of us is paying for your meat pie, Mollymauk?”“You’re assuming we’re buying for just me,” says Molly, fishing in his pockets for some copper. “I’d like two meat pies. My friend here hasn’t had good food in far too long a time.”or: Molly and Caleb try out new foods. Molly might be a little bit in love.





	i got a feeling this will shake me down

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Bastille's "An Act of Kindness". original post is [here](http://skymurdock.tumblr.com/post/174687108803/fic-prompt-widomauk-shopping-together-if-this).

Molly steps out into the cold but fresh air, bounces back on his heels, and says, “Well! That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“I’m still broke,” says Caleb, coming out of the shop with a bag full of fine paper, fine inks, and fine thread, all apparently necessary for spells and other arcane activities. Molly’s not sure why they need to be so _fine_ , plain old paper and ink and thread should do the job well enough, but Caleb seems fairly insistent on it, so here they are.

“But you’re less broke now than the last time,” says Molly for the sake of argument. “Because I’m _very_ good at making deals.”

“You winked at the shopkeeper,” says Caleb, flatly.

“I meant what I said,” says Molly. “Anyway, you still have a couple of silvers left over, right?”

Caleb huffs out a breath, and says, “Well, yes. I was hoping to buy a warm loaf of bread with it.”

_Oh, no._ “I’ve seen you stick your hands in bread,” says Molly, slinging an arm around Caleb, “and frankly, I believe we could find a better use for that silver. There’s this stall in the town square—”

“No,” says Caleb.

“I haven’t even finished my sentence!” says Molly with a huff, still attached to Caleb’s shoulders. They’re very nice shoulders, although they’re a bit scrawny too. Hadn’t the man eaten earlier, in the inn, before they’d left for their errands? Molly’s not entirely sure, when he thinks about it. Whatever, he’ll correct this oversight soon enough anyway. Be proud of him, Nott.

“I know the stall you were about to talk about, and the answer is no, _nein_ , and _absolutely not_ ,” says Caleb.

“ _Meat pies_ , though,” says Molly, insistently. “I’ve never tried them before!” It’s not entirely a lie, he vaguely remembers a meat pie being shoved into unresisting hands, once, in those first few weeks with the circus. But that doesn’t count—he’d been so out of it, those first weeks, hollowed-out and hungry for something he never could grasp. He couldn’t have appreciated it then.

He can now.

“They aren’t that good,” says Caleb, skeptical as always. “Not usually.”

“There’s a chance it could be,” Molly argues, steering him gently towards the marketplace. Caleb grumbles and sighs and tries to bargain with Molly, but he doesn’t dig his heels in and he doesn’t try to shake him off. That by itself means that at the very least Caleb’s curiosity is winning out over his caution, which is a feat in itself.

It helps that there aren’t a lot of people around. It’s a slow day today, it seems, with most people unwilling to come out of their homes so they can freeze their fingers off. Most people, anyway, there’s still a sizable number of vendors and customers in the square today, so it isn’t as if Molly and Caleb are the only ones out here risking it for some food.

One of them is a man with a wispy, white beard, wild eyes, and a grin that splits his dour, scarred face in two when Molly walks up to his stall, arm around Caleb’s shoulders. “Well, hallo there!” says the man. “Top o’the mornin’ to you and to your sweetheart.”

“I’m not his sweetheart,” says Caleb, automatically, blushing a nice shade of pink.

“Oh, he’s not my sweetheart,” says Molly, his arm still draped across Caleb’s shoulders. “We’re good friends, though. How much for a meat pie?”

“Four coppers for a pie,” says the vendor, cocking his head to the side. “You’ve got your arm all cozy ‘round his shoulders, though.”

“He’s very touchy,” says Caleb. “Which one of us is paying for your meat pie, Mollymauk?”

“You’re assuming we’re buying for just me,” says Molly, fishing in his pockets for some copper. “I’d like two meat pies. My friend here hasn’t had good food in far too long a time.”

“ _Ob_ viously,” says the vendor, squinting at Caleb, who steps slightly behind Molly in reply. “You’re a scrawny little thing, ain’tcha? Well, this’ll fix you right up! Two meat pies, coming up, guaranteed to put some meat on your skinny little bones! An’ hair on your chest!” With a flourish, the vendor skedaddles behind a curtain, leaving Molly and Caleb alone for the time being.

“So,” says Caleb. “You’ve never eaten meat pies before?”

“Mm, once, actually,” says Molly, “but that doesn’t count. I wasn’t very conscious then, it’s—kind of a blur. And then after that, I never really had the time to go sightseeing like this, outside of cajoling people to see a show.”

“Oh,” says Caleb, tugging at his sleeve. “I’m—sorry. If I have crossed a line in asking.”

“Nah, it’s fine, you didn’t,” says Molly, with a shrug. “Being deprived of meat pies wasn’t _that_ tragic, compared to Gustav’s cooking. Be glad you never had the chance to try it.” He chuckles to himself at the memory, and tucks his hands into his pockets. “What about you? Ever tried them before?”

Caleb huffs out a breath, and says, “Well, when I was younger, my mother would bring me to festivals just outside of town. They would sell a great variety of things there, from familiar pies to more exotic cuisines, and we would always make it a point to bring home a meat pie for my father.” He looks down, his dirty red hair falling down and screening his face from Molly’s view. “He’d share a little with me, every time. So, yes. I have tried them before.”

“They sound like good parents,” says Molly, lightly. Better than Beau’s, anyway. Better than the family that Molly spun out of stories for himself, just to seem interesting.

“They were,” says Caleb, gently taking Molly’s arm off his shoulders and wiping a little at his eyes. Guilt worms into Molly’s gut—between the past tense and the wiping at his eyes, it’s not hard to guess where Caleb’s parents are, right now.

_What happened to them?_ he wants to ask. But that’s not something he really wants to know, does he.

Instead he just shrugs and says, “Who knows, maybe this might taste the same.”

“I don’t think so,” says Caleb. “They used a secret ingredient, the people we would buy from. I haven’t figured it out, till this day.”

“Mostly the same, fine,” says Molly, just as the vendor comes back with two meat pies.

“I guarantee you, there ain’t no other pies like mine!” says the man. Molly’s pretty sure the vendor is actually kind of offended. “Tell your dad that for me, yeah?”

Caleb flinches a little, but says, pulling out eight coppers from his pocket, “I—will, _ja. Danke._ ”

“Thank you for the pies, you are truly wonderful,” says Molly, holding his surprise in check. He’d planned on handing over a silver or two for the meat pies, it’s not as if it’ll hurt his finances if he lets this vendor keep the change, and now here’s Caleb paying for it with—all his money, actually. Probably? Hell.

He takes his pie, and rests his hand on the inside of Caleb’s elbow. “I can lend you a silver or two,” he says, as they walk away from the stall.

“Please do,” says Caleb. “I do not fancy having to disturb Nott while Jester’s taken her on a Girls’ Day.”

“Yes, Jester’s very terrifying when Girls’ Day gets interrupted,” Molly says, deadpan. “Though—Fjord’s back at the inn. We could make a day for ourselves while the girls are out.”

“Or we could just stay at the inn and I can copy down spells,” says Caleb. “That is also a viable option.”

“Can you copy down spells at a table while we’re drinking or does it need to be inside your room?” says Molly.

Caleb takes a bite of his pie, chews thoughtfully, and swallows. He shuts his eyes when he does, like he’s remembering something, and for a moment he looks much, much younger than he is. “I could write at a table while everyone else is drinking, yes,” he says. “Just don’t expect me to drink too. It’s very delicate work.”

“Good,” says Molly, cheerful, “because I am absolutely going to need someone who can drag me up a whole flight of stairs when I can’t stand anymore.”

“Like Fjord?” says Caleb.

Molly laughs out loud, leans into Caleb for a support. His tail flicks from side to side. “Fjord threw out his back carrying _Kiri_ up the stairs once,” he says, grinning up at Caleb and absently noting the way the sunlight seems to bounce off his hair, giving it a slight glow despite the dirt. “No, I think I’ll stick with you.”

“I cannot promise it won’t happen with me either,” says Caleb, but his mouth is tugging upwards in a little smile, and the two of them walk on back to the inn, eating meat pies together.


End file.
